


The Playbook

by StarMaple



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Graduation, Magical playbooks, Quiddich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5148950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaple/pseuds/StarMaple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Wood is about to graduate, which means he has to turn in his most prized possession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Playbook

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written April 9th, 2003.

Oliver Wood was still, even days later, grinning like an idiot, and he was gripping the spine of the book he carried like it was the Quiddich Cup—which had had to be physically pried out of his hands after the final game. He'd had designs on not letting it go for at least a week, sleeping with it clutched to his chest and waking up to see his reflection in it's tarnished surface. Only the reminder that Marcus Flint had had it at one point had made him feel any better about losing it so soon. Now he just wanted to give it a good scrubbing. 

He looked at the book he carried. The Playbook. Not one of those little pamphlets he gave his team at the beginning of the year with the 20 or so plays he wanted to run that season... No, this was The Playbook: The collected Quiddich knowledge of every Griffindor captain since the beginning of the house team. It had taken him a year and a half to work up the courage to actually add his little plays to such a compendium of greatness—he’d have given anything to keep it. As it was, he’d devoted the entire last year to memorizing plays from it, but he’d only managed 150 or so.

Aside from the plays, which had been enchanted so the little Xs and Os moved across each page to show the plays in action, were the ages worth of advice. Write a play in the book and a hundred Griffindor captains were there to provide notes, suggestions, and commentary.

And it was top secret. No one but a long line of Griffindor Captains knew about it and none of them had breathed a word about it to anyone. Not even his roommates had known about it. And today he had to pass it on.

He hesitated outside McGonagall’s office, hand frozen and unable to complete the act of knocking on the door. Oliver, like a thousand captains before him hated not knowing or being able to predict what the future would hold. That was why he practiced so hard and for every eventuality. That was why he attended other houses’ games with a parchment and quill to take notes. The more you practiced and the more you knew, the less surprised you would be on game day. When you were surprised, or unprepared, you got scored on. He didn’t know what would be coming after graduation. It felt like 15 unanswered goals.

“Are you going to stand out there all day, Wood?” He started and flushed. McGonagall's voice was muffled by the wood of the door, but he could still practically hear the raised eyebrow. 

“No, Ma’am,” he said, but made no motion towards the door.

He heard Professor McGonagall sigh heavily. “Come in then, Wood.”

He moved his hand to the doorknob and finally opened it. “Sorry Professor.”

He thought she'd be frustrated with him, but instead she smiled kindly. “I remember when I had to pass on The Playbook. I understand. James Potter tried to pass off a transfigured textbook when it was time to turn it in. It's not easy for any of us to give it up.”

Oliver smiled weakly. “I used a lot of his plays this year. It was like they were written for Harry.”

“They were written by a seeker with the same flying style. It’s not surprising.”

He swallowed and gripped the book more tightly. “I almost told him, you know… Harry, I mean. I almost showed it to him. I thought he should see his father’s section… but I just couldn’t.”

Harry. There was something about that boy that made him want to look out for him despite all the disaster that seemed to follow the boy around—and the damage he’d done to Oliver’s ‘Goals Allowed’ stats the other year by being unconscious for the last game of the season. He certainly had never had to deal with Dementors at a game before Harry had shown up at Hogwarts. Harry was a magnet for excitement, and to a keeper like Oliver, excitement meant danger. Excitement was all four balls and 13 players within ten meters of his hoops. He was a Griffindor and would face it if he had to, but he really didn’t like it. Oliver dreamed of a day when his team was so good he could just float lazily on his broom and watch as the quaffle, the bludgers, and hell, even the golden snitch stayed way the heck over on the other side of the pitch.

No, exciting, unexpected things were not Oliver’s cup of tea. Oliver much preferred the expected to happen, because he had plans for dealing with the expected. But, despite the Dementors, and his stunning ability to find secret chambers and strange, but valuable stones, he liked Harry, and not just because he was an even better seeker than Charlie Weasley. There was something almost keeper-like about him, Oliver decided, like he attracted excitement and was good with dealing with it, but he’d really prefer a much more sedate life. Oliver could appreciate that.

McGonagall smiled knowingly. “I think he’ll get to see it one day, anyway. I think, once he gets a bit older, we’ll have the makings of a fine captain.”

Oliver smiled back, feeling much better about his decision now. “You’re probably right.”

“Of course I am.” She reached out her hands. “Now why don’t you hand over that big brick of a thing, and I’ll see it’s passed on to the next captain.”

“Right.” He slowly, regretfully passed the book to her.

“Oof! I daresay this has gotten a fair bit heavier since it was first in my possession.”

He grinned. “I think Charlie Weasley added a bunch of extra blank pages when he was captain. It was running out.” Then he sobered. “I don’t think I’ll sleep as well without it.”

She smiled kindly at him. “You were a fine keeper and captain before having this book and you’ll be a fine keeper and captain long after you leave here today. You have nothing to worry about. Any professional team would be lucky to have you. I’ve no doubt you’ve made as valuable a contribution to this book as it’s made to your game plans.”

He flushed again and ducked his head. “Thanks Professor, but that’s not really what I meant… I sleep with it under my pillow," he explained sheepishly, "and I think I’ve gotten used to the… elevation.”

She looked at him over her glasses, dumbfounded. “You’re serious?”

He smiled earnestly and shrugged.

She shook her head at him. “Well go out and get yourself a big blank book and make your own with all the plays I’m sure are rattling around in your head instead of any of my transfiguration lessons, fool boy.” She snorted. “I should have turned you into a quaffle. Maybe then you’d at least know how to undo a transfiguration.”

He smiled at her. “I doubt it. There are some days I think I’d like to be a quaffle—nothing to do except sleep and play quiddich.”

She scowled at him, but he saw there was no real malice behind it. “Get out of my office then, Wood, before I do just that.”

Still smiling, he inclined his head towards her. “Goodbye, Professor McGonagall.”

Her scowl melted—a little. “Goodbye… Oliver.”

His smile grew, he gave her a little wave, and he left her office for the last time.


End file.
